


thou owest god a death

by procrastinatingbookworm



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Academy Era (mentioned), Character Study, Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, Gen, Major Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 20:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: At first, they laugh.(last thoughts, of the past and present and future)





	thou owest god a death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yonderdarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/gifts).



> This story contains major spoilers for "The Doctor Falls", and makes little sense without the context of that episode. Title from Shakespeare's King Henry IV.

At first, Missy laughs.

Throws back her head and laughs and laughs, laughs along with her other self (her attacker, she won't say murderer because rule one is, well, rule one is "lie", but rule two is "always assume you're going to survive") laughs, laughs at the horrible joke the universe has made of her, because _of course._

Of course.

She hears her other self (her attacker, she won't say murderer because despite the agony in her bones she is not dead yet) stumble, curse (in Gallifreyan, they always fall back on that in pain), fumble blindly for the elevator button,

She wants to say something, something witty or sarcastic, some kind of farewell, but her voice fails her as her head sinks back against the moss.

The doors slide shut, and the elevator hums as it descends, and Missy is alone with the smell of burning.

 

_I almost got him._ She thinks.  _Sentimental old fool. He nearly cried before he realized what I'd really done._

Then:  _I don't want to die._

 

The pain spreads from her bones to her muscles to her organs to her skin, and she wants to writhe and curl and scream, but her limbs refuse to move, and every breath is agony, cold fire curling in her lungs. She tries to laugh anyway, chokes.

Of course she would die like this- of course  _they_ would die like this- by their own hand, (one way or another) alone (of course, of course, because they are the Master, loved by the no one but the Doctor, and the Doctor is too grief-mad and determined and betrayed to be with them.)

 

_I'm crying._ She realizes.  _What is it this time?_

Then: _I'm lonely._

(she's used to being lonely. she should be, that is.)

 

Then, stupidly:  _I want to go home._

 

She wonders what they did to him, the Master that came before her, what they did to make him so thoughtlessly cruel. Meeting him was like reading a story someone had written about the Master. The idea of him was there, but the workings were all wrong.

"I'm not that much of a misogynist." She says aloud, surprising herself. "Look at that, still talking. Dying and still talking. Talking to no one."

Then: "Doctor."

Then: "Please."

Then: "Theta..."

 

A memory rises.

 

_"We should take a Type-40."_

_"They're outdated, Thete. And they take six pilots."_

_"That can be fixed, and they're beautiful."_

_"You've researched it?"  
_

_"You know you have too."_

_"Of course."_

_"Race you to the tree?"_

_"And win what?"_

_"Anything you want, Kosch."_

_"Anything?"_

_"Within reason."_

_"Boring."_

_"Race me anyway?"_

_"Beat you there!"_

_"Hey, cheater!"_

 

_Laughter, then the memory fades._

 

"No stars," Missy says, and hears explosions. "I'd hoped there would be stars."

 

She lifts her hands, and even as agony gathers at her shoulders, her elbows, her wrists, the joints of her fingers, she concentrates, until gold fog gathers at her fingertips. She cups her hands and presses it into her chest, between her hearts, and waits. She licks her cracked lips, tastes salt and iron and ash.

 

_The Doctor will save me._

 

 

_///_

_///_

_///_

 

 

At first, the Master laughs.

It's what he falls back on, amidst the pain and betrayal and the rush of trying to recalculate, laughter. He stumbles until his back hits the elevator, sinking to the ground with white-hot agony under the hand on his stomach, struggling to breathe, he chokes on blood and laughs, high and disbelieving.

He meets his attacker's (he doesn't say murderer, because he's not dead yet) eyes, and he doesn't recognize her. His laugh shudders, comes apart into a rasp.

He looks into Missy's eyes, into what his eyes will be, and sees the Doctor.

 

It's not even a choice, what he does next.

He struggles one-handed with the controls of his laser screwdriver and shoots her in the back.

 

She falls, and he laughs. Throws his head back and laughs, wild and manic and breathless. Hears  _her_ laughing too, (he doesn't name her, he refuses to, she gave up being the Master when she chose the Doctor over herself and over him) and there's a moment of horrible unity, laughter at the end of the line, like it's some great cosmic joke, because _of course_ -

Of course.

There's no other way this could end, no other way they could die, The Doctor would never kill them, not before the war, not when they were the last, and not now. And it wouldn't be a monster, or an accident, or anything inconsequential, they're too cautious for that.

So of course it's by their own hand. It always would have been, one way or another.

 

The Master stumbles to his feet, swears in Gallifreyan as he almost falls, scrabbles blindly for the elevator button.

She's watching him, and she's the last thing he sees before the elevator lurches and the doors slide shut and he collapses; her eyes, afraid and defiant and somehow, somehow, triumphant.

_I win!_ he wants to shout at her,  _not you, not the Doctor, me! I win!_ But his voice fails and the doors close and he falls back against the cold metal floor and laughs, thin and wheezing, more shuddering and gasping for breath than anything resembling mirth, closes his eyes and laughs.

 

He laughs and laughs and realizes suddenly that he's afraid.

 

_How long?_ He wonders.  _How long do I have as her, before this?_ Then:  _How long do I have before she becomes someone I would kill? How long was she the Master before the Doctor made her noble, made her good?_

"No!" he rasps, and it echoes off the metal walls, rings in his ears. "No!"

He clings to the railing, pulls himself to his knees, to his feet. His hands are red, red, red and he remembers Missy's blue, blue eyes with the Doctor in them, and he is afraid.

_Good,_ says the Doctor's voice in his head,  _scared means strong_ , and the Master screams to drown it out.

He paces two steps before he falls again, and the pain registers. He can feel his heartbeats in his fingertips, tastes blood behind his teeth, struggles to breathe. He's had worse, much worse, but Missy, oh, even soft and noble and good, knows where to strike, knows how to twist, knows exactly how to make a pocketknife hurt.

 

Of course he's dying like this, bleeding out alone, (the Doctor was with him the last few times, he thinks and then pushes away) dying afraid, his murder the last of of what will be his last life once he lives it.

"You almost had me," he rasps, and wonders if Missy will remember when he wakes up as her. "I thought we were actually being sentimental for a minute. Good trick. And suitably-" he coughs, wipes his mouth, looks at the streak of red on the back of his hand, laughs. "-suitably dramatic."

 

The elevator shudders to a halt, and he drags himself to his feet, because he is alone, and afraid, and dying, but he has enough dignity ( _ego,_ the Doctor would remind him, but the Doctor isn't there) not to crawl. He will not die on his knees.

He jerks open the door of his TARDIS, lurches toward the console, leaves smears of red and he scrabbles for purchase, finally curls his hands around the controls, holds himself up. He shudders, tastes iron, forgets to be afraid.

 

A memory rises.

 

_"How do you want to die?"_

_"Which time?"_

_"The last time. When you run out of regenerations."_

_"Under the stars. With you. Together."_

_"Me too."_

 

He thinks of Missy, and almost finds pleasure in the irony of it, in the fact that she died alone _because_ she had chosen to return. It's hilarious. He laughs, but it's just a heave of his shoulders and a rasping cough. He blinks, almost can't open his eyes again.

"Die the Master," he chokes, thinking of an old saying. "or live long enough to see yourself become the Doctor." He tries to laugh, to breathe. He catches sight of himself in a chrome plate on the console. "That's why..." he tells his reflection, pale and ashen and afraid, with blood on his lips, framed in gold fog. "That's why you had to die."

 

He falls back, stumbles, catches himself on the wall, stares upward. "No stars," he whispers, tastes sweat and blood. "I'd hoped there would be stars."

 

 

His vision turns red, turns gold, turns black, and he wakes up in ill-fitting clothes and an ill-fitting body, remembering nothing.


End file.
